


Gentleness and Joy and Love

by KiranInBlue



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiranInBlue/pseuds/KiranInBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tasha feels bad about the way she snapped at Data when she sobered up from the intoxicating contagion on board the Enterprise, and she takes the time to explain to Data why she acted as she did. Data forgives easily, but decides that he will do everything he can to make her feel cared for and protected, so that she never has to be frightened again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gentleness

Geordi wasn’t the type of person who made it a habit of prying into other people’s affairs. He was generally of the belief that, as long as it didn’t interfere with work, anyone’s personal affairs were their business and their business alone. But every so often, something cropped up that even he couldn’t ignore – and when it involved his best friend, he had to look out for the guy.

Ever since the events of the Psi 2000 virus, Geordi had noticed an odd change come over Data. It wasn’t readily perceptible, even for someone as close to Data as Geordi, but it was just enough to catch his attention.

Whenever a certain security chief came into the vicinity – starting her duty shift when Data was at ops, passing him the hall, sharing a table in the briefing room – Data’s eyes would follow her silently, his eyebrows furrowed as if trying to wrap his mind around some unfathomable enigma. He would suddenly become somewhat quieter – not exactly distracted, for he followed every order as instantaneously as ever – but less engaged with the people around him. He did not ask for clarification of slang or metaphors; he was less likely to attempt to contribute his own, unique input to the conversations around him; even his “approximated human movements” ceased, and he stood as rigid and stiff as, well, an android. He appeared, in his own way, to be . . . lost in thought.

If Tasha noticed Data’s behavior, she made no show of it. She ignored his questioning gaze, and when she spoke to him, it was always in the line of duty, curt and to the point. In fact, when Geordi thought about it, her behavior was a little strange as well – while she had never been quite close friends with Data, she’d never been so distant from him, either.

It wasn’t hard to guess what might have happened to prompt the change in their behavior – almost everyone on the ship had done or said something they wished they hadn’t while under the influence of the virus. People had fought and said cruel things, told each other secrets and vulnerabilities, embarrassed themselves with stunts, had kissed and made love to friends and strangers alike. There was a whole variety of things they could have done while intoxicated, each possibility more embarrassing than the next. And in all honesty, Data and Tasha weren’t the only ones who were acting a little uneasy around one another lately.

But whereas Geordi let all the other strained crewmembers work out their problems in their own privacy, he couldn’t ignore the situation that had cropped up between Data and Tasha. Data was not like the other crewmembers; he was childlike and innocent, with minimal interpersonal skills and no insight whatsoever into the complexities of human relationships. Geordi knew Data well enough to read the expression on his face whenever he stared at Tasha – he was lost, and confused, and Tasha wasn’t offering any explanation.

When Geordi asked Data, Data refused to divulge any information. “Nothing happened,” he insisted. Geordi pushed, but he could get no more out of Data than: “I was told not to speak of it.” And no matter how much Geordi told Data that he was his friend, and he was concerned about him, Data refused to say any more.

Which meant that Geordi had to fall back on Plan B.

“Tasha, can I speak to you?”

It was the end of beta shift, and both Geordi and Tasha were preparing to go off-duty. Data, who had arrived to take command of the gamma shift, was watching them curiously and looked faintly puzzled, but Geordi ignored him.

Tasha glanced up with him, looking slightly surprised. “Sure, Geordi,” she replied. “What is it?”

Geordi shook his head. “Let’s talk in the turbolift, okay?”

Now Tasha looked as bewildered as Data, but she obligingly followed him into the empty turbolift.

“Deck ten,” Geordi said.

“Deck six.”

The turbolift rumbled into movement – but the moment they were clear of the bridge, Geordi called out a halt. The turbolift slid to a smooth stop, and Geordi turned to face Tasha.

Tasha looked at him curiously. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”

“Well . . . ,” he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts “Listen. I know something happened between you and Data when the Psi 2000 virus was running rampant on the ship –”

“Did he say something?” Tasha broke in, an expression of shock and anger crossing her face.

“No, no!” Geordi assured her hastily. “I keep asking, but he keeps saying that ‘nothing happened’. But I’m his best friend, and I know him. Something’s eating at him, and I know it has to do with you, because he keeps _staring_ at you.”

Tasha was beginning to look a bit cornered, so Geordi quickly added: “I’m not asking you to tell me what happened. That’s between you and him, okay? I get that. Just – I wanted to remind you that Data isn’t like everyone else. He doesn’t understand, and he’s obviously lost and confused right now – and since neither of you are talking about it, you’re the only one who can explain it to him.”

Tasha’s expression had smoothed out somewhat – the fear and anger had drained from her face, and instead she had a faint look of guilt. “You want me to talk to him?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s hard to get Data to understand some things about human interaction, so I’m not asking you to perform any miracles. If you can’t help him, you can’t help him, and that’s that.”

“Oh. Um, sure,” Tasha replied. “I guess I can see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” Geordi said, with a smile. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, whether or not you actually get through to him.”

“Of course. I – I really didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Geordi shook his head. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s even possible. If Data were here, no doubt he would remind us that he is ‘not capable of feeling hurt’. He’s just confused right now, and hopefully a simple explanation will sort it out.”

Tasha smiled wryly, and nodded. “I’ll talk to him,” she promised.

 

“Great. Computer, resume turbolift.”

* * *

Unfortunately, Tasha found that talking to Data was much easier said than done. She’d never been any good at talking about feelings – hers, or anyone else’s. She much preferred to play her emotions close to her heart, where she didn’t have to put words to them or show the dents in her armor. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure that she was _capable_ of explaining anything to Data.

This was the kind of thing best left to Counselor Troi, and in another situation, she might have asked Deanna for help. But this was _her_ mess, and it was her responsibility to clean things up. Besides, for Deanna to be able to help, Tasha would have to tell her about what happened – and Tasha was fairly certain she didn’t want to talk to anyone else about it just yet.

She spent hours lying awake at night, running conversations through in her mind. Nothing sounded quite right – either she was giving away too much or too little, and no matter what she did, she just never felt right about what to say. Two, three, four days passed with little progress, and it wasn’t until the fifth day that she threw in the towel with planning and jumped in headfirst.

It was early in the morning, at the start of alpha shift. Tasha passed through the hallway of the crew quarters, headed off for a long, hard workout with three of her security crew. As she approached the turbolift at the end of the hall, the lift doors open, and Data stepped out, apparently having just returned from his duty shift.

Data greeted her with a small nod. “Hello, Tasha.”

“Data,” she acknowledged.

He peered at her for a moment, as if trying to figure something out, but then he gave her one of his small, awkward android smiles, and stepped aside to pass her.

Tasha wasn’t sure what made her do it – she certainly hadn’t been planning to – but as he brushed by her, she suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, or maybe she was just exhausted after having spent so many sleepless nights planning for this conversation, but suddenly, she had to _talk_. “Data,” she said quickly, trying to get the words out before she could change her mind. “Listen. Can we go somewhere private to talk for a moment?”

Data blinked at her, looking faintly surprised. “Of course,” he told her. “My quarters are right here – is that acceptable?”

“Uh, yeah. That’d be great.”

He nodded, and led the way to his quarters, where he stepped aside to let Tasha in first. She obliged.

Tasha had never been in Data’s quarters before. Somehow, she found, they were not quite what she’d expected. They were fairly Spartan, that much was true, without stray socks littering the floor or leftover glasses scattering tabletops, but then there was a painting on the wall and a plant in the corner, and several books were scattered neatly across the desk. It was unusually neat for any human’s quarters, but it didn’t feel like the bare necessities of a standard-issue room either. It was _. . . personal . . ._ and she felt distinctly as if she were intruding on Data’s space. Which, she supposed, she was; she just hadn’t expected it to be so evident.

“We are in private now,” Data said as the door slid shut behind him. “You may speak.”

Suddenly, Tasha wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. She still wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, and how on earth could she help an android understand why anyone did what they did? She eyed the closed door apprehensively, but then, as she caught Data’s curious gaze, she took a deep breath and struggled to swallow her anxiety. She knew she was making excuses again, and Data deserved better than that.

“Do you – do you mind if we sit down?” she asked, gesturing at the couch at the side of the room.

Data gazed at her. “That would be acceptable.”

Self-consciously, Tasha approached the seat and sat down, tucking herself back up against the wall as much as she could. Data followed and sat himself lightly on the edge next to her, his strong gaze never leaving her face.

“Look, um . . . Data,” Tasha began, once he’d settled himself. He turned his head slightly, and she couldn’t help a small smile at his expression of intense curiosity. It helped alleviate the knot in her stomach somewhat – but it was still a struggle to not flee the room then and there. She swallowed hard. “Data,” she tried again. “About . . . what happened between us, with the Psi 2000 virus . . .”

“I have not told anyone about that incident,” Data said. “It is, as you said, as if ‘it never happened’.”

But although his voice was steady, the expression on his face was confused and hopeful, as if he were trying desperately to alleviate her fears, but had no idea how or why those fears even existed. Tasha forced herself to smile warmly.

“I know,” she replied. “But about that – I didn’t mean to be so harsh, and you deserve an explanation.”

“I have been confused as to the nature of the events that transpired,” Data admitted. “But you do not have to explain it to me if you do not wish to. I am not ‘hurt’, and if you would prefer, I will continue to ignore the occurrence.”

“I want to explain. I was unfair to you.”

“I see. You may continue, then.”

She heaved a deep breath and met Data’s eyes. He blinked back at her. “Data, you didn’t do anything wrong that day. How I acted – it wasn’t your fault. I was just . . . scared.”

“Scared?” he echoed. “Why?”

“Because . . . do you remember what I told you about the colony I grew up on?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Data,” she said slowly, all the different ways she’d thought of to say this over the past few days tumbling through her head at once. “On that colony, showing vulnerability could get me and the people I cared about in a lot of trouble. And – that virus – it made me show you those vulnerabilities that could have gotten me badly hurt. It scared me.”

Data was still staring at her, and now his eyebrows had drawn together in concern. “I would not hurt you,” he assured her gently.

“I know,” she replied with a small smile. “But sometimes, when people have been really badly hurt, they’re always scared. It doesn’t matter who they’re with; they’re just scared of being hurt again.”

“I see,” Data replied slowly. And to her surprise, it appeared that he did. The confusion was gone from his expression, and rather, he was watching her worriedly. “I hope I did not upset you.”

“No,” she assured him. “You didn’t. In fact, Data, if that was going to happen with someone, I’m glad it was _you_.” She smiled softly. “I don’t think anyone else on this ship is quite as capable of the same gentleness you showed, and it really helped to know that sometimes, my vulnerabilities will be met with kindness and gentleness and attention.”

Data looked surprised, and faintly pleased with himself. One corner of his lips twitched upwards in a small smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Tasha said. “You did wonderfully.”

He smiled slightly. “Is there anything more I can do to help you?”

And his eyes were so sincere and imploring that she couldn’t help but smile back. “No, that’s alright, Data. Just . . . be yourself, okay? It’s comforting to know that people as kind and gentle as you are out there.”

“Of course,” he replied solemnly.

“Well, I’d better get going,” she said suddenly, and stood. “They’re probably waiting for me on the holodeck.”

“I see. I appreciate the explanation.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I just wanted you to understand why I did what I did.”

“I do,” he assured her. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” she replied, and then with a wave, she stepped out the door and was gone. 

* * *

 

Data sat on the couch, staring at the door, long after Tasha had left. He was deeply concerned by what he had heard; he’d known that she’d faced a difficult past, but he had not been aware it continued to affect her so profoundly. She was a good friend, and he wanted her to be happy – when she smiled, it was pleasant, and the thought of her being troubled by fear even in the company of friends unsettled him. He wanted to help.

Gentleness and kindness, she’d said. It was comforting to her. He’d tilted his head slightly in thought. He’d never considered himself unusually gentle, but if she found his behavior helpful, he would continue to express that kindness and compassion to the best of his ability.

He blinked slowly as his programming formulated a new directive: he would find a way to help.  


	2. Joy

After their conversation, Data’s behavior towards Tasha began to change. It was very subtle, at first – for example, rather than simply staring at her whenever she entered the room, he would now smile and greet her with a friendly “hello, Tasha”. It had startled her the first couple times he’d done so, as she become used to the silent distance that had grown between them since their actions those many weeks ago and now expected his quiet, perplexed stare. But in time, she began to smile easily in return, and when she entered the morning briefing, her eyes would even seek out his in anticipation of his greeting.

He would nod at her in the halls and ask her how her day was in the turbolift; he would walk with her if they were heading in the same direction. He was never bold or presumptuous – each time, he would ask her with his most earnest expression if she would mind if he joined her, and when she agreed, his face would light up, as if her acceptance were a gift.

Being cordial again with Data was unexpectedly nice. Tasha had forgotten how charming his company was – he was attentive and easy to please, and interacting with him was just so _simple_. No hidden agendas; no complex social niceties. Just kindness, companionship, and innocence. She found it was relaxing in a way, and she came to welcome – even anticipate – his presence.

Which is why, when Data invited her to join him and Geordi on the holodeck one evening, she agreed. She’d been taken aback, of course, for Data had not made any previous shows of hoping to spend time off-duty with her, but after a moment of shock, in which Data’s wide-eyed earnest gaze met hers, she smiled nervously and nodded. “That sounds like fun, Data. Thank you. What time?”

His head tilted to the side, and his pleased half-smile tugged at his lips. “Nineteen hundred hours,” he told her.

“Do I need to bring anything?

“Anything you need for skiing.”

She looked at him suddenly, slightly startled, but then a wry grin began to spread across her face. “Did you _know_ that I love skiing? Or was that just a lucky guess?”

Data didn’t even blink. “I have noticed you on the way to the holodeck with ski gear on a number of occasions,” he replied. “I inferred that you must enjoy the sport.”

She felt suddenly shy at the thought of his attention towards her actions. She let out a breathy, slightly nervous laugh, but nevertheless, his consideration was flattering, and she felt a rush of affection towards him. “Good inference!” she said. “Yeah, I’d love to join. Do you know which range we’ll be skiing?”

“I believe Geordi has selected the Pointed Peaks of Delta Vega.”

“I don’t think I’ve done that program,” Tasha said. “It sounds interesting.”

“I am pleased to hear it. I look forward to your company this evening.” He sounded entirely sincere, and Tasha’s shyness returned in full-force.

She grinned, hoping it would conceal her discomfort at the sudden attention. “Great. See you, then!”

Data beamed.

* * *

The skiing program was some of the best fun she’d had in ages. At first, she’d been somewhat apprehensive about sharing the evening with Data and Geordi, whom she knew to be very close friends; she thought that her presence might be an intrusion on their previously-established dynamic. However, she needn’t have worried. Geordi and Data were both welcoming and clearly gratified by her presence – and if she were being bold, she would say that Geordi seemed to be a little relieved to have someone who actually _understood_ his jokes for once.

She was clearly the best skier of the three, easily traversing terrain that made the other two tumble through the snow. To be fair, Data’s lack of finesse was mostly due to lack of experience, and as the holodeck program continued, he quickly grew more adept – by the end, he was easily keeping up with Tasha, their tracks twining together as they sped down the mountainside. He seemed particularly fond of the moguls, which he traversed with lightning-quick agility. Geordi, on the other hand, had either little natural talent, a significant lack of experience, or both, and he resorted to grumbling at the two of them as he wobbled to the base of the mountain, more often than not, entirely covered in snow.

Two hours in, Data and Tasha were sitting at the bottom of the hill, peering back up the slope as Geordi slid down the last hundred meters. Tasha was leaning slightly on her poles, and Data stood as ram-rod straight as ever.

“Come on, Geordi!” Tasha called out encouragingly. “You’re almost there!”

“I would have never agreed to come if I knew you two were going to run laps around me!” came the reply.

Data looked perplexed, and Tasha explained: “It’s just a phrase – it means we’re a lot better than he is.”

“Ah,” Data replied.

Finally, Geordi slid to a stop beside them. “Man, I’m beat,” he said, pulling down his ski mask to catch his breath. “I think I’m ready to turn in. You?”

“Yeah, I should get going, too,” Tasha agreed. “I have some reports to get done before bed tonight.”

“I, too, will ‘turn in’,” Data put in. “While I may not feel fatigue, I do not desire to continue the program without companions.”

Geordi chuckled. “Well put. Computer, end program.”

The computer beeped its assent, and the image of the mountain faded away into the hatched black and yellow pattern of the empty holodeck.

“That was a lot of fun,” Geordi said, as he popped off his skis and began to unzip the extra layers of his ski clothes. “I’m glad you were able to come, Tasha.”

Tasha grinned, and shook off her hat. “Thanks – I enjoyed it. It was nice of you guys to invite me.”

“Thank Data; it was his idea. When I suggested skiing, he said you liked skiing a lot and might like to join.”

Tasha had expected as much, but nevertheless, she suddenly ducked her head and busied herself with pulling off her scarf.

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself,” Data said. He had already stripped off his ski clothes, and had wandered over to the side of the holodeck, where he had propped his ski gear up against the wall. He was peering at the holodeck now, a look of thought on his face. Tasha had just opened her mouth to ask him what he was up to when Data suddenly appeared to make up his mind. “Computer,” he said. “Replicate two hot chocolates, please. Include marshmallows and whipped cream.”

The computer whirred, and then there were two steaming mugs sitting in a holographic replicator that had not been there a moment ago. Data picked them up and rejoined Geordi and Tasha, who had just managed to pull off their snowpants and were sitting on the floor. He proffered one mug to each.

Tasha blinked at it, startled. Although he was also offering a mug to Geordi, it was nevertheless another sign of Data’s newfound attentiveness. “Data, what’s this?”

He looked confused. “It is hot chocolate. I have read that it is traditional to consume hot chocolate upon termination of winter activities – was I misinformed?”

“No, you’re totally right,” Geordi put in, and eagerly reached out to grasp his mug. “This is perfect – thanks, Data!”

Data looked pleased, then turned back to Tasha. “Do you not desire yours?”

“Oh, um, of course,” She smiled hesitantly and took the second mug from him. “Thanks. Are you not having one?”

“As I can neither taste the hot chocolate nor feel cold, I did not believe it was necessary,” he replied. “Would you prefer that I did?”

“Oh – no, it’s okay.” She grinned reassuringly. “Just curious.”

He nodded, understanding.

 _“Pats to LaForge._ ”

“Aw, crud,” Geordi grumbled, quickly rifling through the pocket of his ski jacket to draw out his communicator. He tapped it. “Geordi here.”

“ _Hate to bother you, but Lieutenant Suvok has taken ill. Could you take the rest of his shift?”_

Geordi let out a dramatic sigh and shook his head long-sufferingly, but nevertheless, he tapped the badge again and said: “Sure thing. I’m on my way.” He turned back to Data and Tasha and gave them an apologetic smile. “Sorry, guys, looks like you’re on your own. I’ll see you later, then.”

“No problem – I’m sure I’ll get another chance to kick your ass in skiing later,” Tasha assured him, and he grinned back at her as he stood to leave.

Data offered a cheerful wave, and then the holodeck doors slid shut behind Geordi, blocking him from view.

Tasha suddenly found herself very aware of Data’s presence. It was as if she could hear every movement he made, every simulated breath he took. It was unusually tense, compared to the easy companionship she’d grown used to in his presence, and she tried to shake herself mentally.

She knew she was only uncomfortable because she was unused to the attention he was paying her today and wasn’t sure how to express gratitude for his kindness. Her tough, competitive exterior was usually enough to deter the kind of gentle compassion Data was showing; others instinctively expressed any fondness for her through friendly banter. But Data – simple, innocent Data – clearly was incapable of such complex understandings of interpersonal interactions, and he resorted to his characteristic honest kindness. It was probably the only way he knew how to express friendship, and she would be unfair to withdraw from it simply because it was unusual to her.

Tasha took a slow, deep breath and brought the mug to her lips. The chocolate was sweet and creamy, and it soothed her nerves as it warmed her chilled fingers. “We should do this again sometime,” she said, after a small sip. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone who could keep up with me on the mountain. Worf’s just too _burly_ for skiing, and he looks ridiculous in a hat.”

Data looked perplexed for a moment as he considered the image. Then, he said: “I would not be averse to repeating the experience. On Thursday, I planned to attempt a diving program. It is not skiing, but would you be amenable to joining me?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been diving,” she replied. “Sounds like fun. Sure – I’ll be there.”

Again, Data looked remarkably pleased with himself.

Tasha closed her eyes as she took another sip from her hot chocolate. When she opened them again, she found Data sitting in front of her, quietly folding the mess of her ski gear into some semblance of order.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Data!”

He glanced up and tilted his head. “You were occupied with your drink. I only wished to help.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she assured him embarrassedly. “I’ll deal with it when I’m done. Really.”

“Very well,” he replied, and pushed the snowpants he’d been folding back onto the pile unceremoniously.

For a moment, they sat in companionable silence. To her surprise, she found herself less uncomfortable than she had earlier. It was like a cultural barrier, she decided – unsettling and confusing at first, but something she just had to adapt to. And, as a trained Starfleet officer, she was more than capable of adapting to differing cultures.

She relaxed, and crossed her legs. She was just about to open her mouth to say something to break the silence, when suddenly, Data’s communicator chirped. As he rifled for it, she snorted. “Seems like we’re all popular today!”

Data gave her a perplexed stare, but did not ask; he tapped the communicator. “Data here.”

 _“Oh, good, Commander Data. Are you free?”_ came the response. “ _Milo’s been asking for you, and he refuses to go to bed unless you tuck him in. I normally wouldn’t ask, but I really need to go on duty in the morning.”_

“Of course, Lieutenant. I am on my way.” He tapped the communicator again, and the link cut out.

“Milo?” Tasha echoed, arching her eyebrows curiously.

Data nodded as he rose smoothly to his feet. “Yes. Milo is the five year-old son of Lieutenant Birks and her husband. I made his acquaintanceship three weeks ago when he escaped the daycare facility, and he seems to have grown attached to me. This would not be the first time he has refused to go to bed without my presence.”  

Tasha grinned, and chuckled. At his questioning stare, she shook her head. “That’s actually kind of adorable,” she said. “And somehow I’m not surprised. Now that I think of it, you do seem to be the type who would be really good with kids.”

Data tilted his head, digesting this information. “How does the ‘type that is good with kids’ seem?”

She shrugged. “I can’t say, exactly. It’s kind of a _vibe_ you give off. You seem trustworthy, but it’s also more than that.”

“Fascinating. Would you be amenable to further describing the ‘vibe’ at a later date?”

She laughed uncertainly. “I’m not sure if I can say much more than that,” she told him apologetically. “But I can see what I can do, sure.”

“That is acceptable,” he replied. He seemed to consider her words for a moment, and then looked up again. “I shall go now, and I will see you later. Good night, Tasha.”

“Night, Data.” She smiled as she watched him go.

After the doors clanged shut behind him, she let out a soft, contented sigh, and brought the hot chocolate back up her lips. She’d never quite expected to be close friends with Data – from the time she came on board, she’d believed that his fundamental gentleness and incessant curiosity was incompatible with her more competitive exterior. She’d never thought herself to be the patient type, certainly not someone who would be able to answer Data’s endless stream of questions, but there was just something about Data that brought out the best in people. It was hard to truly be irritable with someone who looked constantly perplexed and trusting, even when he wanted to know the finer nuances of _coughing_. Being mad at Data was something akin to being mad at a puppy.

He was sweet, she decided. And it was true that she’d had more fun with the skiing program than she’d had in ages – she could certainly stand to spend more off-duty hours with him. To her mild surprise, she found that was eagerly anticipating diving with him on Thursday – even downright _excited_ for it.

Tasha had finished her hot chocolate at this point, so she gathered up her ski gear and slung it over her shoulder as she left the holodeck. It still wasn’t very late, so she figured she could probably take a bath before starting that report, and be in bed in time for a good six hours of sleep before her duty shift in the morning.

She hadn’t gotten very far down the corridor when suddenly, the sound of raised voices caught her attention – or, more accurately, one voice was raised. The other was perfectly even, and sounded perplexed, in a very familiar way.

“ _Please!_ ” the agitated person was saying. “You’re being absolutely ridiculous. You don’t even _need_ recreational time – you could work around the clock if you wanted to. I’m just asking for one hour of your holodeck time.”

“I apologize,” the other replied. Tasha immediately recognized Data’s voice – and for all that he didn’t have emotions, he was sounding rather concerned. “But I have plans during the holodeck slot you have requested. I am . . . unwilling to cancel those plans.”

“You don’t understand! I’ve been trying to get a date with this guy for months. I told him – Sicily at eighteen hundred hours on Thursday. I thought you’d be _nice_ enough to understand.”

Tasha rounded the corner. A dark-haired lieutenant in science blues had cornered Data against the wall and was leaning up close into his personal space – not that Data seemed to notice his proximity much, of course. But Data _did_ seem to notice the lieutenant’s disgruntled facial expression, and his eyebrows were knit close in either concern or confusion. Knowing Data, it was probably both.

“I sincerely apologize, Lieutenant, but I have already reserved that slot on the holodeck. Might I suggest an alternative activity? I believe that dinner in one’s quarters is a popular past-time for ‘dates’.” He looked sincere – even when cornered and harassed, Data was ever-helpful.

“It’s not fair!” the lieutenant insisted. “You don’t need rec time like everyone else, so why won’t you give your holodeck time to someone who needs it more, someone with actual psychological _human_ needs?”

Tasha had heard enough.

“Oi, Lieutenant!” she barked, making the boy jump several inches from shock. Data turned at the sound of her voice, and he, too, looked moderately surprised. “What on _earth_ do you think you’re doing?”

The lieutenant appeared to have lost his voice. He mumbled something inaudible to the floor.

“What was that?” she snapped. “It sounded to me as if you were trying to bully Commander Data into giving up his holodeck time to you.”

He winced. “I – I just thought... I mean, since –”

“You thought that since Data isn’t human, he doesn’t have the same rights to recreation as the rest of us?”

The lieutenant didn’t reply.

“I’m disappointed with you,” Tasha said sternly. “I expect more of a Starfleet officer.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

Tasha narrowed her eyes at him. “And if you are really going to be so psychologically damaged by losing this one date as you seem to have been suggesting, I suggest you make an appointment with Counselor Troi to have your psych eval redone. Perhaps you are not fit for duty?”

“No, sir,” the lieutenant replied hastily. “I mean – yes, I am fit for duty. I – I was exaggerating the importance of the date.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tasha said stiffly. “But I’m going to have to report this. What’s your name, lieutenant?”

“Dubronski, sir. Peter Dubronski.”

Tasha nodded curtly. “Very well. Dismissed.”

Immediately, the lieutenant hurried past her, clearly relieved to be free from her accusatory glare. He didn’t even pause to glance at Data, let alone offer an apology, which made Tasha’s blood boil once more. With a sudden thought of inspiration, she spun on the spot and called out: “Lieutenant Dubronski!”

He turned, apprehension clear on his face.

Tasha shot him a wry grin and lifted her eyebrows. “By the way – those plans you were trying to force Data to cancel?”

“Yes?”

“They were with _me_.”

He inhaled audibly and stared at her with wide, horror-struck eyes. Clearly, he had not intended to interfere with the plans of the considerably less-forgiving chief of security.

She shook her head with a chuckle, then turned away. Behind her, the sudden sound of scampering feet announced the lieutenant’s hasty retreat.

Data was looking at her curiously, and as Tasha met his eyes, she felt a slight flush begin to creep up her neck. Now that she thought about it, her final statement to Dubronski could be construed to sound as if she and Data were _seeing_ each other. She bit her lip, embarrassed.

But as Data continued to gaze at her, his expression held nothing but gentle intrigue, and she felt a smile, come, unbidden, to her lips. The rumor mill talked whether she fed it or not – and to be honest, it had been more than worth it to see the expression on Dubronski’s flabbergasted face.

“Are you alright?” Tasha asked Data, moving closer.

Data nodded. “I am uninjured. He did not assault me.”

“At least not physically,” Tasha pointed out. Data looked perplexed, so she added: “That was definitely a verbal assault. I’m sorry about that.”

Data blinked at her. “It was not your fault.”

“No, but you still shouldn’t have had to gone through that.”

Data’s eyebrows lifted, and he turned to her with a small, sad smile. “It is not uncommon,” he said softly.

Tasha felt her heart twist in her chest. “Data . . . you shouldn’t put up with discrimination. People are horrible, I know, but don’t let them continue. When something happens, tell me – as security officer, I need to know these kind of things.”

He appeared to consider this for a moment. “I do not believe people are horrible,” he said.

Tasha glanced at him, startled. “Data…,” she said softly, but he continued.

“Considering the destruction I am physically capable of, it is remarkable that ninety eight point seven percent of people I have met have trusted that I would not harm them,” Data said earnestly. “Even those who treat me with hostility believe that I am not dangerous, and that is a considerable kindness. Furthermore, regardless of whatever prejudice I may face, there have always been people such as Geordi, Counselor Troi, and yourself to express support.” He smiled at her, his head tilted in that incessant expression of fascination. “However, I will tell you if another crewmember exhibits discriminatory behavior towards me.”

Tasha was momentarily lost for words. But then – a small smile began to creep up her face, and she let her fingers brush against the skin of his wrist. He glanced at her, startled, but when she did not pull away, he simply gazed complacently at their hands. Tasha found herself watching him thoughtfully. Leave it to Data to find kindness in even the actions of a bully, to stubbornly defend humanity despite the countless slights members of that race had made against him. She had always thought that Data was very childlike and naïve – but no. Now, she realized, his gentleness and wonder were not so much _innocence_ as they were simply the result of a deep-rooted commitment to optimism that was impossible to shake. No matter what happened, he had faith in the world.

For several long moments, they walked like that, silent and almost hand-in-hand. But then, finally, Data broke away. “These are the quarters of Lieutenant Birks and her family,” he explained, as they approached a juncture. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Tasha replied – although, to her surprise, she suddenly felt very sad to see him go. “Good night, Data.”

“Good night, Tasha. And . . . thank you.”

She smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

He nodded slightly, and then turned to enter the quarters.

That night, when Tasha returned to her own room, she found her thoughts echoed with memory of Data’s words. Somehow, she’d never truly comprehended what a fascinating person he was – and now that she’d noticed, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Through her bath and her report, she thought of him and his kindness, his gentleness, his unfailing optimism. She spent hours peering up at the ceiling and mulling over the kind of strength it must take to believe in kindness after the kind of experiences he’d fallen victim to, wondering at what marvel of programming had made him so full of wonder – or was that just _Data_ , something that was intrinsic to him, separate from the precise algorithms that coursed through his systems? Either way, he was clearly the gentlest and most hopeful person she had ever met, and she was fascinated. When she fell asleep that night, it was with the image of Data’s soft smile strong in her mind. 


	3. Love

During his occasional forays into friendship, Data had extrapolated four general patterns of behavior and cognition that were characteristic of successful interpersonal relationships – companionship, personal appreciation, altruism, and attentiveness. By applying these parameters to his interactions with various crewmembers, he found he was able to cultivate positive relationships with most of the bridge crew, and with a few individuals who shared his shift. Of course, there were many characteristics of friendship that continued to elude him, and he found, to his fascination, that when he applied the same behavioral patterns to disparate relationships, the resulting friendship – or lack thereof – was unique with each individual. He’d gathered that this phenomenon was a matter of “compatibility”, although he had not yet been able to discern any further patterns in his observations with that knowledge.

In his application of his friendship parameters to his interactions with Tasha, Data had discovered a rather intriguing result. He sought companionship with her and expressed a personal appreciation for her; he attempted to show generosity and be attentive to her personal desires, in much the same way as he had done for others. Tasha responded, at first with surprise, but then appeared to welcome his gestures of friendship. But – as Data continued to cultivate their relationship, he found, to his surprise, there was a strange fluctuation in his own desires.

Data had grown accustomed to a steady, linear increase in his desire for the continuation of the patterns of friendship with particular individuals as his relationship with said individuals grew stronger. The correlation had been strongest with Geordi, but there was a similar interaction with all of his successful friendships.

But with Tasha . . . with Tasha, that increase in desire was not linear. It was _exponential_.

She was an incredibly fascinating individual, and Data found his attention drawn to her much more often than he’d ever expected. He found himself thinking of her and examining her actions disproportionately to that which he did for his other friends, and he was acutely concerned and attentive to her well-being. He was endlessly intrigued by the seeming contradictions that coexisted within Tasha – she was fiery and independent, but also appeared to crave affection she rarely sought out on her own. She was compassionate, and altruistic, but also wary and quick to temper.

Data considered her a fascinating and admirable individual; she was a single sample that represented a wide variety of possibilities within the single state of humanity, including many of his own personal goals. She was a good friend, a competent commanding officer, a compassionate individual, and a unique, complex person with a wide variety of capabilities. The more he thought about her, the more he _wanted_ to think about her. He found himself spending a disproportionate amount of time considering new possibilities of ways to spend time with Tasha – new holodeck programs, partnered projects between science and security, chess in Ten Forward – and while in her presence, he found her company unusually gratifying. Similarly, he found himself driven to express appreciation and generosity towards her with remarkable frequency, in any way that might make Tasha smile – or better yet, laugh.

And apparently, Data was not the only one who had noticed the change in his own behavior.

He and Geordi were spending their off-duty alpha shift together in Ten-Forward one day, discussing the new crew members they had recently picked up during a rendezvous with the _Georgetown_. As second officer, Data shared in the arduous task of coordinating new duty rosters, and as second officer’s best friend, Geordi had been assisting him distribute assignments to the new junior bridge officers.

“That new Lieutenant Patel seems like she’ll be great – she’s adjusted so quickly you’d think she was on board since the ship’s been in service,” Geordi was saying. “But Ramsel? Not so much.” He shook his head despairingly.

Data tilted his head. “Why?”

“Well, I gave him his duty assignment yesterday, and he went as white as a sheet and then said he absolutely couldn’t take the helm for gamma shift, since he failed his evasive maneuvers course the first time back in the Academy. I mean, honestly, how did he plan to get through the command track without a _single_ piloting shift?”

Data considered this for a moment, eyebrows lifted. “…Intriguing. How did you respond?”

“Well, I _told_ him that he was being ridiculous – we all failed a course or two back at the Academy, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and no reason not to carry out our duties to the best of our abilities. I mean, honestly – Data, _you’re_ probably the only person who didn’t fail a single course back then.”

“That is not precisely true,” he corrected mildly.

Geordi waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I know there are others who make it through the Academy without a single failing grade, but still --!”

“No,” Data interrupted. “I mean, I did not pass every class.”

Geordi glanced up, startled. “ _You_? Really? What did you fail?”

“Ethics and Moral Principles,” he replied. “The final assignment was to debate both sides of assertion that all life is sacred. I could not formulate an argument against the hypothesis, as it was against my programming, and therefore, I failed the course.”

Geordi’s eyebrows lifted. “Huh. I hadn’t thought of that, but I guess it makes sense.” He held his hand out in a gesture of emphasis. “I rest my case – if even _you_ failed a course, there is absolutely no reason to avoid certain duties just because it was a bit difficult in the Academy.”

“I believe you are correct,” Data agreed.

“Of course I am,” Geordi replied. “But if only I could convince Ramsel – he looks like he’s about to argue it with me every time he sees me.” He fell quiet, musing.

“Did you know that Lieutenant Yar failed the same course?”

At the abrupt declaration, Geordi turned his head to peer at Data, his eyebrows high. “No,” he said slowly. “I didn’t.”

There was an asymmetrical smile tugging on Data’s lips as he tilted his head with his characteristic expression of childlike fascination. “She said that she failed the course for similar reasons as myself – she could not accept any situation in which ‘life was cheap’.”

“I see.”

“It is intriguing,” Data continued. “That my programming had the same effect on me as human temperament and belief had on Tasha.”

“Yes,” Geordi agreed, one eyebrow still raised. “Intriguing.” He paused for a moment, as if considering his words. Then: “Data – do you realize that you’re talking about Tasha a _lot_ lately?”

Data blinked. He _had_ been aware of the disproportionate amount of time he’d devoted to thinking about Tasha, but had not considered any unusual patterns in his observable behavior. His eyes flickered from side to side as he accessed his memory files of the past several weeks, cataloguing the incidents in which he mentioned Tasha in casual conversation. He then compared the results to his conversations of two months ago.

“Ah,” Data said after a moment. “I believe you are correct. I calculate that I have been discussing Lieutenant Yar in the past two weeks at a rate of incidence three point four six times higher than usual.”

“I’ll say,” Geordi muttered in agreement.

“Is this . . . a problem?”

“Problem?” Geordi echoed. “No . . . no, not exactly. It’s just – unusual.”

Data inclined his head, acknowledging. “I have noticed a significant variation in my friendship with Tasha, in comparison to that I share with others. I have attempted to explain it, but I find that human friendship is remarkably complex. The best theory I have formed so far is that Tasha and I are unusually compatible friends.”

“Unusually compatible friends, huh?” Geordi said ponderingly. “I suppose that is _one_ possibility.”

Data’s brow furrowed slightly. “Do you have another theory?”

“Well . . .” Geordi hesitated, looking uncertain. “What do you _feel_ about her, exactly?”

“I do not experience emotions,” Data reminded him. “However, I think she is a good friend and a competent officer, and I enjoy her company.”

Geordi’s expression was unreadable. He considered this for a moment, and then offered Data a small smile. “Never mind, then – it’s nothing. You’re probably right; just ‘unusually compatible friends’, as you say.”

Data looked pleased, and launched into a lengthy discussion of the observations he had made regarding the diversity in expressions of friendship, focusing primarily on the factor of ‘compatibility’ and its predictability, or lack thereof.  In the process, he mentioned Tasha twelve more times.

 

He did not notice Geordi’s steady, speculative gaze. 

* * *

 

If Tasha were to say that the past several weeks had not been enjoyable, she would have been lying. Data’s undivided attention was more than simply nice – it was wonderful, addictive. She had not expected to ever get used to his unmitigated kindness, but since that night they’d gone skiing together, she had found it remarkably easier to match his gentleness with a brand of her own. It was a gentleness she rarely had a chance to express in her job as chief of security, a gentleness she’d almost forgotten she had, but around Data, it began to come as easily to her as breathing.

It was as if seeing Dubronski confront Data had flipped a switch in her mind. One moment, Data was an enigma – not quite mechanic, not quite human, unknowable, an anomaly. His behavior was unpredictable; she had enough difficulty understanding _people_ sometimes, so how on earth could she guess how this completely unique, complex lifeform would react – to anything?

But in the next moment, she _understood_. At Data’s core, there was unshakable faith. He had faith in the best of everything and anything; towards people and friends, he was kind and gentle, seeking acceptance amongst those so different from himself, even when he was turned away more times than anyone could count. Towards even the inanimate, he expressed a deep, appreciative fascination for anything he encountered. Everything was valuable to Data, whether it was a long-lost treasure of some ancient civilization, a hardbound copy of the collected works of Conan Doyle, or even something as commonplace as your everyday spoon.

And _that –_ Tasha understood. She remembered staring up at the stars on that godforsaken colony she’d been born, thinking to herself that there _was_ something better out there and she just knew it somehow; she remembered being ten years old and dangerously weak with fever and hunger and telling herself she would not die, even if it meant another dayscrambling through the trash bins for food, because _it was her life, and life was worth living_ ; she remembered the day the Starfleet officers came and how she’d taken a deep breath and grasped a commander’s outstretched hand because she knew instinctively _this was her chance_.

They were kindred spirits, she and Data – both of them had been born with an intrinsic understanding of the unshakeable value of the world, of life. Both stubbornly refused to give up on that belief, despite adversity and cruelty. And both of them, in their own way, were vulnerable.

That knowledge brought her ease, and a sudden, unexpected rush of affection. Data was in need of as much gentleness as herself, and somehow, his warmth and childlike need of validation drew her in like a moth to a flame.

She found herself seeking his company more and more often, and the high point of every week was the holodeck time he shared with her, whether it was diving or sailing or hiking. When they were in the same room, even one as large as Ten Forward, she was constantly aware of his presence, and of every movement he made. Her ears had become perfectly attuned to the words of slang or a metaphor, and each time, her head would swing to the side in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the way Data’s eyebrows scrunched together in bewilderment – it made her smile every time.

It was typical, she thought somewhat ruefully one evening as they gathered around an enormous cake in Ten Forward emblazoned with the words “Happy Birthday Commander Riker”. She had not felt this way for anyone in a long time, and now that she did, the object of her affections was a heartbreakingly sweet android incapable of any emotion whatsoever. Data was currently gazing at the cake in his characteristic titled head, parted lips expression of enraptured fascination, and the way the candlelight flickered against his face made her eyes grow soft.

It was no matter, she told herself firmly. Whatever she would like to have had from Data, it was not as important as what he _needed_ from her – that was, a friend.

“Make a wish, Will!” Deanna urged a laughing Riker.

“Okay, okay! You guys are all an impatient lot!” he replied. He grinned good-naturedly, and then leaned over and blew out the candles with a single, powerful breath.

The room erupted with cheering and clapping, and someone off to the side – Tasha couldn’t see who – called out: “Birthday boy cuts the cake!”

Riker took the knife that was proffered to him with a jovial laugh and began to slice the cake into remarkably symmetrical slices.

“Make a wish?”

Tasha glanced to her right. Data had moved closer to stand next to her, and his eyes were wide and unblinking as he fixed her with an inquisitive stare. “What is the significance of ‘making a wish’?” he asked again.

She glanced at him, surprised. “Have you never been to a birthday party before?”

“No,” he replied. “I have not had the opportunity, as I have never been good friends with crew members before I came on board the _Enterprise_.”

“Data…,” she said softly, feeling her heart clench in her chest. A flame of anger surged in the back of her mind towards the crew of Data’s past ships, the people who never thought to give him the time of day. But he was still watching her expectantly, so she forced a small smile. “Well, it’s a tradition, you see. I don’t know where it comes from, but the tradition says that on your birthday, you make a wish when you blow out your candles, and if you don’t tell anyone, it should come true.”

“I see,” Data replied. His lips were parted slightly as he tilted his head and fixed her with that characteristic enraptured expression he adopted whenever he was faced with some new nonsensical human idiosyncrasy. “Did you make a wish during your last birthday, Tasha?”

Tasha felt her heart clench once again – but this time, with an entirely different emotion. Her false smile softened into a genuine expression of fondness, and she inclined her head slightly. “I did,” she said. “But I can’t tell you what it was.”

“Because if you did, it would not come true,” Data agreed, meeting her gentle teasing with deadpan sincerity.

She grinned.

“Tasha, Data, here you go.” Riker approached them, holding a slice of cake in each hand. He proffered the pieces to them, which they took – Tasha eagerly, Data with visible curiosity.

“Thanks – oh, good, chocolate!” Tasha remarked cheerfully.

Riker pulled a face. “Yeah – I wanted vanilla buttercream, but _someone_ left Deanna in charge of the catering.”

“Well, Commander, sometimes the simple stuff is the best, you know.”

“Don’t let Deanna hear you say that!” Riker broke in with a laugh. “Chocolate is never _simple_ when she’s involved.”

“Good point,” Tasha conceded, and helped herself to a bite of her slice.  

To her right, Data was peering at his cake inquisitively. He broke off a small piece with his fork and lifted it to eye level, tilting his head curiously as he continued to stare at it unblinkingly.

Tasha grinned at him. “You know, Data, you’re supposed to _eat_ it, not analyze it,” she teased warmly.

Data glanced up at her, looking a little startled, and he obediently popped the forkful into his mouth. Tasha couldn’t help but chuckle at the serious, thoughtful expression that crossed his face as he chewed, but Data didn’t seem to notice.

“Intriguing,” he said after a moment. “The frosting contains more sugar than other chocolate confectionaries I have tasted.”

“That’s right,” Riker agreed, with mock-sullenness. “And _that’s_ why I wanted buttercream. Buttercream isn’t too sweet.”

“Too sweet?” Tasha echoed incredulously. “No, this is just right. Nothing better than a good, old-fashioned chocolate-frosting. Best flavor, if you ask me.”

“But I didn’t ask you,” Riker pointed out.

Tasha elbowed him playfully.

Data watched them unblinkingly as he swallowed his second forkful of cake. His eyes then dropped to the plate in his hand, and a curious expression of concentration furrowed his brow. He licked his lips, and then put down his fork.

“I am not capable of enjoying this cake the way you do,” he said, and although his voice betrayed no further thoughts on the matter, a faint expression of frustration strained at his features. But then he lifted his eyes to Tasha’s, and his eyebrows lifted hopefully. “Would you like my slice, Tasha?”

Tasha started. “Oh! Er – are you sure?”

“Yes,” he replied, pressing the plate into her free hand. “I would like you to have it.”

His gaze was intense, but sincere, and Tasha felt her face grow warm. She ducked her head slightly. “In that case,” she agreed. “I’d be happy to.”

Data looked pleased.

Just then, Geordi squeezed his way out of the crowd to stand by Data’s right elbow. “Hey, Data,” he greeted cheerfully. “You enjoying yourself?”

Data turned to him, looking faintly surprised at Geordi’s sudden arrival. “I am,” he replied sincerely. “Thank you, Geordi.”

He grinned. “That’s great. But hey, if you don’t mind, Lieutenant Bates and I are having a little bit of a disagreement about who would win in a fight – a selhat or a targ. I say selhat, but she won’t listen.  Care to come back me up?”

Data blinked, and his eyebrows came together unhappily. “But -,” he said weakly, his gaze flitting between Geordi and Tasha. “Would you like to come with me, too, Tasha?”

Tasha did not notice the way Geordi’s eyebrows rose speculatively at that. Her face grew warm once more, but she shook her head apologetically. “Maybe in a bit. I need to find Deanna.”

“I understand,” Data replied. But nevertheless, he looked a bit put out.

“I’ll catch you later,” Tasha assured him. “And if there’s time after the party, I’ll show you that new holodeck program I made for us to try.”

Data brightened immediately. This time, when Geordi tugged on his elbow, he allowed himself to be lead away, with a small, pleased smile still tugging at his lips.

Tasha watched him go, shifting the plate he had given her to a better balanced position in her grasp. Absently, she took another bite of the cake.

She didn’t notice Riker’s expression, or even that he had stepped closer, until suddenly, he raised one eyebrow and a slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face. “I wouldn’t have put my money on it,” he said, sounding as if he had just been handed the birthday present of a lifetime. “But it looks like our android’s carrying a torch for you!”

Tasha choked.

Riker thumped her on the back, but Tasha waved him off, coughing. “I’m fine; I’m fine,” she insisted. “But that wasn’t very funny.” She shot him a hard glare.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Riker replied.

Tasha leveled him a disbelieving stare.

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted. “But I also meant it – don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he acts around you!”

“Data isn’t capable of emotions,” Tasha reminded him curtly. “However he acts, it isn’t charged by feelings.”  

“Maybe not the way _we_ experience them, sure. But I think he is capable of preference – his _logic algorithms_ apparently code for friendship.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s capable of ‘carrying a torch’ for anyone.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But maybe it does. And you’re certainly important to him, in whatever way he _is_ capable of.” The flush in Tasha’s cheeks darkened, and Riker’s smile gentled as he clapped her amiably across a shoulder. “It’s worth a shot, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” she retorted irritably.

“Data’s not the only one acting smitten lately, you know.”

Tasha eyebrows lifted dangerously. “I’ll thank _you_ to mind your own business, Commander,” she told him, only half joking.

He grinned. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone. But just for the record, I think you’d be good for each other.”

Tasha wrinkled her nose and scowled at him. “Oh, shut up,” she retorted, lightly shoving him aside. “Now, I’m going to go find Deanna like I said!”

Riker laughed, but – to Tasha’s great relief – said no more; he waved her off with a cheery grin as she disappeared into the crowd.

Tasha found Deanna quickly. Deanna smiled and pulled her into a hug, and Tasha laughed and congratulated her on a party well-thrown. Over a glass of synthehol, they ate and giggled conspiratorially over the gifts they’d gotten for Riker.

But even as they talked, Tasha eyes kept drifting off towards the corner, where Data was often gazing off in her direction. Each time their eyes met, Tasha felt her heart leap to her throat, and she had to look hurriedly away to hide a rising a blush. She tried to push her conversation with Riker to the back of her mind, but every time she caught Data looking at her, she could not help Riker’s words from resurfacing in her thoughts: “ _Looks like our android’s carrying a torch for you!”_

She swallowed. Riker was being ridiculous; he was just attributing human emotions and behaviors to Data because of his humanlike appearance. Data was mimicking human behaviors, but he certainly didn’t understand the nuances or implications of his actions. He was expressing friendship, nothing more.

 

Friendship, she told herself firmly. Just friendship. 

* * *

 

The party ran late into the evening that night, and by the time that the festivities came to a close, it was much too late to swing by the holodeck before bed. Tasha apologized profusely to Data and promised that they would try out the new program at the earliest possible time. Data agreed.

Unfortunately, the next week saw the whole bridge crew buried in work. An unexpected distress call from a Federation colony brought the _Enterprise_ to a small moon where the terraforming had been unexpectedly reversed by a shift in the magnetic fields. Four hundred colonists, including Federation scientists and their families, were struggling to survive in an emergency habitat built to house only half their number, even as earthquakes and volcanic activity threatened to tear the crust apart. They were low on rations, space, and primarily air, and the _Enterprise_ barely had time to drop out of warp before they were beaming up the colonists in droves in a hasty evacuation procedure.

Tasha and her security team were pulling double, triple shifts in order to get the colonists settled and provided for - a considerable feat when the ship was now bursting at 115% passenger capacity. At the end of each day she collapsed onto her bed, weariness clinging to every limb, and was asleep within seconds.

Data was not much better off; as science officer, second officer, _and_ operations officer, he was involved with research salvage, colonist relations, energy allocation, terraforming readings, resettlement candidates, and more other jobs than Tasha could count. He barely arrived at one station before he was called off to another, and it was sometime halfway through the third day that Tasha realized he probably hadn’t taken himself off duty since this fiasco began.

For that week, there was no time for musing on android emotions. Tasha’s conversation with Riker was pushed off to the side, and although Data still somehow found a moment to nod her hello whenever she entered the room, she had no time to ponder about its meaning. There was certainly no time for holodeck recreation, and so Tasha’s new program went unused.

But then, finally, the _Enterprise_ rendezvoused with a large passenger freighter fully equipped to handle the four hundred colonists on the journey to their new home. Within a few hours, the last of the colonists beamed over to the passenger freighter, and Picard issued a shipwide order that all crewmembers who were currently pulling their third shift (“Or more,” Riker added, with a meaningful glance at Data, who met his gaze with an innocent perplexed expression) would take themselves off-duty immediately and remain off-duty until at least 0600 hours.

 

Tasha was more than happy to make the most of her mandatory eleven hours of rest. She was able to exchange a few friendly words with Data on the turbolift down towards the crew quarters, but thankfully, he was attentive enough to recognize that his human crewmates were in sore need of physical rest; he did not ask to spend time with any of them, but instead made his way to his own quarters, perhaps to paint or read, or work on some other personal project. If his gaze lingered a little longer than absolutely necessary when he said goodbye, well . . . she was still far too exhausted to really be bothered with it. 

* * *

 

But the following morning, Tasha woke up feeling entirely refreshed. She was fully energized, and her duty shift on the bridge that morning was calm and peaceful – which meant, of course, when Data greeted her with his gentle semi-smile and wished her a good morning, her conversation with Riker reemerged in her mind with a vengeance. She managed to return his friendly greeting kindly enough, but she had to hurriedly turn to her console in an effort to prevent a deep flush from crawling up her cheeks.

Butterflies had erupted in her stomach, and even as she turned away, she was distinctly aware of Data’s unblinking gaze focused on her every move. _Friends_ , she told herself firmly. _That’s all._

 _But_ , a nagging voice piped up in the back of her mind. _What if Riker had a point?_ No one entirely knew exactly what Data was capable of – even Data himself seemed to frequently underestimate his ability to understand and mimic human behavior. It wasn’t as if Data had come with some sort of _manual_ listing out all of his various capabilities, and to be honest, she doubted anyone could have expected an emotionless android to develop truly loyal and affectionate friendships the way Data had. But he _had_ ; apparently, there was something in that mind of his that coded for the AI equivalent of friendship.

Could she be _certain_ that Data was incapable of any sort of romantic interest? His behavior certainly suggested otherwise. Without the distractor of demanding work to keep her occupied, Tasha was free to painstakingly observe him – and it _was_ true that Data’s behavior did not truly adhere to his usual expressions of friendship. Although the positions of their stations on the bridge kept Data’s back turned to her most of the time, he was still somehow able to find a way to glance over at her at least once every five minutes. Any time he turned to speak to Captain Picard or Commander Riker, for example, his eyes would flicker over to her in split second intervals in mid-conversation, and when her duties called her to Deck Three to break up a fight between a pair of ensign competing for the same promotion, she felt his gaze heavy on her back all the way to the turbolift.

There were other signs as well. Whenever she laughed or smiled, Data would perk up immediately; his gaze would snap to hers with that childlike wide-eyed expression of intrigue that was so characteristic of him, and his lips would turn upwards at the corners and part slightly. Around 1000 hours, Data took a short break from his shift in order to attend to a time-sensitive experiment he and Geordi were working on, but before leaving the bridge, he stopped by her console and asked if he could bring her anything to eat.

“I have noticed that you prefer to eat breakfast in the late morning,” he explained. “And that when you are on duty for alpha shift, you forgo breakfast and are therefore hungry until the end of your shift. If you would like, I could bring you something when I return.”

Hastily, she assured him that she was quite alright, and that she would take her own break if she got hungry. Data accepted this. However, Tasha could not help but notice that she was not the onlybridge officer who skipped breakfast for alpha shifts, but she _was_ the only one Data had extended his offer to – and, judging by amused expressions exchanged between Riker and Geordi, she was not the only one who noticed.

By the end of her six-hour shift, the nagging voice in the back of her mind had evolved into a heavy, burning question. Was Riker’s premise really so far-fetched? If any human exhibited the same behavior Data was right now, she would have described them as completely smitten and thoroughly whipped. And while Data was _not_ human, he was not all that different either. Scrunched eyebrows still meant he was confused, and when he smiled, it meant he was pleased. Maybe infatuated behavior really _could_ mean that he was actually infatuated, in whatever way his positronic mind could be.

By the end of her shift, Tasha had resolved herself to settle the matter. She would simply have to ask Data why he acted the way he did. Perhaps he didn’t even understand his own behavior, but he was at least likely to have more insight than she did. And besides, she _was_ looking forward to showing him that holodeck program as she’d promised.

“Hey, could you hold the turbolift for me?” she called out over her shoulder. She was in the process of showing her replacement some of the tasks that needed finishing, and Data had just stepped around her to enter the turbolift.

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

A few moments later, she stepped into the turbolift after him, and he greeted her with a small, friendly smile. A lieutenant whose face she recognized but name she didn’t know was standing to the back of the turbolift, but other than a blink, the lieutenant didn’t acknowledge her.

“Deck ten,” Tasha said. The turbolift slid smoothly into a descent, and then Tasha turned to Data, who was – unsurprisingly – watching her. “Hi, Data.”

“Hello.”

“Erm… are you doing anything this evening?”

Data’s expression brightened, and he blinked as a small smile tugged at his lips. “No,” he replied. “I am not. Why? Did you have something in mind?”

“Well, I _did_ promise you a holodeck program as soon as possible, didn’t I?” Tasha reminded him. “How about tonight?”

Data’s eyebrows tightened slightly. “Are you certain? Geordi said that he has to sleep for a month to recuperate from ‘hell week’. Do you not also need rest?”

“Data, Geordi was just exaggerating. He was trying to emphasize how exhausting last week was – but we did all get around eleven hours of sleep last night, you know, so really, I’m fine.”

He appeared to consider this. “If you are not too tired, I would be amenable,” he agreed.

Tasha smiled.

Then, Data’s gaze lifted to hers, his eyes wide and sincere, and he added: “I have missed you, Tasha.”

Tasha’s stomach turned a flip. She had to bite her lip to control the shy, ear-to-ear grin that threatened to spread across her face. “I… I’ve missed you, too.”

Dear lord, she really was hopeless.

“So, ah, how about after dinner?” she continued hastily. “Meet at holodeck two, around nineteen hundred hours?”

Data inclined his head. “That would be acceptable.”

“Great.” The turbolift came to a halt, and the doors slid open onto deck ten. Tasha turned – noticing belatedly that the unnamed lieutenant had witnessed their entire conversation – and offered Data a small smile. “I’ll see you then.”

Data nodded. “I look forward to it.”

 

Then the turbolift doors shut, cutting him off from her view. Tasha’s gaze lingered for a brief moment, before she finally turned away and headed for Ten Forward. 

* * *

 

It was exactly 1659 hours, according to the ship’s chronometer. The holodeck was up and running, the program was functioning seamlessly, and Tasha stood in the center of the holodeck with her equipment swung over one shoulder. And she was _nervous_.

Data would be arriving any moment. She had resolved herself to confront him about his behavior tonight . . . but what if she had been entirely misreading him? What if Data had just been trying to be nice in whatever way he knew how, and her misinterpretation scared him off? What if he stopped acting so . . . _Data_ - _like_ so to prevent further misunderstandings in the future? What if he was even _offended_?

Tasha’s palms felt clammy with sweat, and she wiped them restlessly on the sides of her uniform. At some level, she knew she was being ridiculous; it was not in Data’s nature to take offense, and it would take much more than a simple misunderstanding to scare Data off from being his gentle, trusting self. Nevertheless, even as she inhaled deep, calming breaths, she could not unclench the knot in her belly.

Just then, the holodeck doors slid open, abruptly wrenching Tasha out of her thoughts. She made a startled hop-turn towards doors, and then a slow, sheepish smile spread over her lips. Data stood in the doorway, his head tilted to one side as he surveyed his surroundings.

“Data!” she exclaimed. “You scared me.”

“I apologize,” Data replied, looking faintly concerned. “I did not intend to.”

“Oh, no, it’s not your fault. I was spacing out,” Tasha assured him. “Anyhow, what do you think of the program?”

The holodeck doors had opened up onto a rocky ledge on the side of a steady, steep slope that was dotted with white vegetation like pockets of mountain snow. The ledge itself towered fifty feet above a vast, tropical forest made of similar white vegetation, and faintly, Tasha could make out the calls of several distinctive species. In the sky, a large gas giant hovered menacingly at the horizon, and a small, dwarf star twinkled in the distance.

“Intriguing…” Data had stepped up close to the edge, and was peering over the side with enraptured curiosity. “What is the setting?”

“An M-class moon orbiting Harraticus III,” Tasha replied proudly. “This simulation represents the collection of research conducted by several teams over a period of five years. We’re currently on the slope of Mount Thetis, one of the moon’s several active volcanoes.”

“It is remarkably extensive,” Data commented. He leaned down to stroke the leaves of a small, vine-like plant sprouting off the side of the ledge. “It has a distinctive texture.”

Tasha nodded. “Yeah, all the details are catalogued in the program. I thought maybe we could climb the mountain; there are some thermophilic plants that live near some of the vents, and since the safety protocols are on, we can get right up close to them.”

Data glanced up at her, his parted-lip smile lighting up his face. “That sounds fascinating. I believe I would enjoy that.”

“That’s great. Shall we get started?”

Data nodded. She offered him a small pack, which he accepted and began to strap on.

But as Tasha began to unravel her own equipment, she noticed that Data’s eyes never left hers. He did not turn back to the extensive alien scenery laid out before him, or continue his investigation of the small white plant at his feet. His undivided attention was focused entirely on her.

Suddenly very self-conscious, Tasha felt a fluttering warmth uncoil in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers sparked with nervous energy as she adjusted her climbing harness, and she felt heat begin to prickle at her neck. She fumbled a buckle – and then swore loudly as the whole harness slipped out of her grasp. Data eyebrows angled upwards in concern.

“Are you alright, Tasha?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” she muttered distractedly. “I’m fine.”

Data reached down and picked up her harness for her. “Are you certain you are not too tired for this? I would not want you to injure yourself.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she repeated. “I just – Data, what’s going on?”

Data blinked. “I . . . I do not understand.”

Tasha heaved a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to compose herself. She had not meant to bring up her questions until they reached the top of the volcano; she always felt at her best with endorphins coursing through her system. But the question had slipped out before she could think – and now Data was peering at her expectantly.

She exhaled slowly. Admittedly, if her fumble with the harness was any indication, it would be for the best to get this situation out of the way _before_ they started climb. She squared her shoulders and lifted her eyes to Data’s.

“What do you feel about me?”

Data frowned slightly, and his head twitched a few degrees to the left. “I do not have emotions,” he said. Ironically, his voice sounded rather sad.

Tasha shook her head emphatically. “Not human emotions, I know. But . . . you still have attachment, right?”

He nodded.

“So, what do I _mean_ to you, exactly?”

“You are a close friend to me,” Data replied. “You are a respected colleague and a trusted acquaintance --…” But Tasha was shaking her head again, and she ran one hand harshly along the side of her face. Data fell quiet, and his brow furrowed disconcertedly.

“Data…,” Tasha said softly, her eyes closed as she searched for the right words. “You’ve been acting really . . . _attentive_ around me. More so than you do around other friends. You’ve been spending a lot of time with me, doing me favors, getting me gifts. Why?”

This time, Data was silent. Tasha’s eyes fluttered open to see him staring at the ground, a frustrated, lost expression on his face.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You don’t --…”

“I do not know,” he said suddenly. “I feel an unusually strong desire to be in your company and to be kind to you, but I do not understand why. Last week, Geordi asked me a similar question in regards to the frequency in which I spoke of you. I told him I believed you and I were remarkably ‘compatible’ friends.”

Tasha’s breath hitched. “Is . . . is that what you think now?”

“I am not certain. Geordi has not argued me, but he does not seem convinced.”

“Data…” Tasha’s heart was pounding rapidly in her chest, and she swallowed hard, struggling to bring her racing thoughts under control. “Data,” she started again. “Do you think that you might be capable of romantic interest?”

Data peered at her with a frown. “I am not capable of love.”

“Not _love_ , no… but what about just _interest_? What about infatuation? Is that really so different from friendly attachment?”

Data’s head tilted to the side, and he blinked once. “Please explain.”

“Well, um . . .” Tasha faltered for a moment and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. “Erm… I’m no Deanna, but in my experience, infatuation is a lot like the desire for friendship with someone, just a lot stronger. I mean . . . you want to be around them, and their company makes you feel good. And you want to know more about them – _everything_ about them. And you want to share things with them, but more than you would share with a friend… And, well, I guess, you might also want to kiss them.”

Data’s eyes flickered to her mouth, and Tasha flushed, but she did not look away.

“…Intriguing,” Data murmured after a moment. “It… is possible.” His eyes lifted to meet hers and he cocked his head slightly to the right. “Do you believe I am infatuated with you?”

Tasha swallowed hard. A shy, but gleeful grin was tugging at her lips, and she could feel her heart fluttering like a desperate hummingbird in her chest. “I . . . I can’t say. But you _have_ been acting like you might be. What do you think?”

Data considered this with a thoughtful frown and angled eyebrows. “I believe… you may be correct.” He peered up at her, and to her surprise, his expression was somewhat concerned. “Does it bother you?” he asked.

“No – no, it’s fine,” Tasha assured him hastily. “I’m flattered. To be honest, actually . . . I kind of feel the same way about you.”

Data started slightly, and he fixed her with an unblinking stare, lips parted. “You are . . . infatuated with me?” he questioned. He looked utterly perplexed.

She nodded. “Yes, with you.”

A moment passed. Data tilted his head, and Tasha could almost _hear_ his mind whirring. Then, a slow, pleased smile spread across his lips, and he stared at her, visibly enraptured. “Fascinating,” he said quietly. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It is . . . a unique experience.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

He inclined his head. “Nevertheless, I am grateful.”

She smiled, and accepted the thanks with a nod. “So . . . what would you like to do?”

Data blinked. “Do?” he echoed.

“Well, normally, when two people are mutually interested with one another, they try some sort of romantic relationship.”

Data’s eyebrows knit together, and he frowned slightly. “Would you _want_ to have a relationship with me? I thought . . . you did not want to be ‘vulnerable’. That was why you were upset after our last intimate encounter, correct?”

“That’s true, but this is on my _own_ terms,” Tasha explained patiently. “So I’m not nearly as vulnerable as when I was infected by that virus. And besides . . .” She paused, and offered him a small smile. “I trust you, Data.”

But Data did not look convinced. “I have little experience in such relationships. I am not certain I am capable.”

Tasha let out a soft sigh. “Data… you’re not going to get experience unless you try. And besides, everyone makes a few mistakes, but we all learn from them. You can do the same.”

He considered this. “…You are _certain_ you wish to begin a relationship with me?”

“Only if you are.” She gave him a somewhat shy, lopsided smile. “I’ve really enjoyed spending so much time with you recently, and I think it would be nice.”

He tilted his head in thought. “In that case,” he said after a moment. “I would be happy to be in a relationship with you.”

Tasha’s grin spread ear to ear. “I’m glad,” she said, and then reached out to entwine her fingers with his.

Data stared down curiously at their joined hands. “I . . . I confess I am not certain how to proceed.”

“How about something simple – a date? You know, when two people who are interested in each other spend time together in order to enjoy each other’s company?”

Data glanced back up at her, looking perplexed. “Is that not what we are doing?”

Tasha let out a little laugh. “Good point. But it doesn’t count unless both parties acknowledge it as a date. Do you want this to be a date?”

“Yes,” Data replied immediately.

 

She smiled, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Data blinked, then experimentally returned the squeeze. Tasha suppressed a chuckle. “Well, it’s a date, then,” she said. “Come on, we’ve got a volcano to climb.” 

* * *

 

A few hours later, they were standing in the hallway outside Data’s quarters. Tasha felt sweaty and disheveled after their long climb, and next to Data, who was as immaculate as ever, she felt only more unkempt. But she was exhilarated, and she could not help the broad smile that was beginning to make her cheeks ache.

“Well, it’s getting late,” she told Data. “I should probably go back to my quarters and get some rest.”

Data, who had been staring at her, looked a little crestfallen, but he nodded. “I understand. Thank you for walking me back to my quarters, Tasha.”

“Of course,” she replied. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“I am pleased. I, too, enjoyed myself.”

She smiled, then leaned close and pressed her lips gently against his. It was short, and chaste – but nevertheless, when she pulled back, Data looked simultaneously stunned and thoroughly pleased with himself. His parted-lip smile had returned to tug at the corners of his lips, and he cocked his head slightly to the side.

“A ‘good night kiss’?” he asked in clarification.

“Yes,” she replied. “It means I very much liked our date, and I’d like to see you again.”

“You will see me on the bridge --”

“On another _date_ , I mean,” Tasha clarified.

“…Ah.” Data digested this for a moment. Then, with a gentle hand on her upper arm, Data stepped forward and brushed their lips together. Tasha returned the kiss softly, leaning into him for a brief moment before he pulled away. Data was smiling again. “I, too, would like to ‘see you again’,” he said softly.

“Good,” Tasha replied. “Well, good night, Data. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Tasha.”

Data offered her a small smile, and then he turned to his quarters and stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind him, leaving Tasha in the hall with a broad grin still plastered across her face. Her fingers hovered thoughtfully over her lips for a moment.

Finally, she turned away and began to make her way down the hallway. Already, ideas and plans were forming in her mind; Doctor Crusher’s play was next week, wasn’t it? Perhaps Data would like to attend with her, and finish the evening with a peaceful dinner in their quarters. And next month, they would be in Risan system – maybe they could even take shore leave together.

Tasha smiled softly to herself. Gentleness, joy, and love – she had asked, and Data had delivered.


End file.
